


Happy Hands and Flowers

by PanDisasterMan



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Flower Kid, Autistic Habit, Best end route, Boris needs a hug okay, FK is Mute and uses they/them pronouns, Flapping, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Possible Spoilers, Stimming, Thank you Grammarly.com for helping me, implied nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanDisasterMan/pseuds/PanDisasterMan
Summary: Habit gets a flower, makes a friend, and learns how to do something important.





	Happy Hands and Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I call him Boris cause I think that it makes him more human/ vulnerable. I love autistic Habit so much. Let the lad be happy.

Boris Habit wakes in the dead of night. A recurring dream causing his head to get foggy and sour. Boris lets out a hollow chuckle in the darkness and sits there, still and listening. He waits, shaking, for the sound of his father’s footsteps - slow and deliberate. It’s a sound that hasn’t reverberated through reality since before college but remains ever-present in his waking nightmares.

His mind fogs further, allowing the frowns and long pasted abuse to bubble up violently. His chest and arms tighten uncomfortably as if his body was shrinking. It’s a vexing, hazy, feeling that has only become more and more frequent. Growing tired of this cycle, Boris walks to his desk and dawns his coat, silently hoping it would mute the tightening feeling.

After a few minutes of nothing, the haze overtakes him. Boris grins widely, too wide, and takes out his crudely made diary, the same one he’s had since boyhood, and writes. 

 

From his window, Boris can see Martha active, the puffs of smoke emitting from her tinted only the barest shade of gray. The “Big Event” will happen soon and he couldn’t be habbier. Recently he’s been making videos for his frownie Habiticians. Whether they’re tips, facts, or reminders, Boris always feels lighter after each recording. Speaking through his puppet has the pleasant benefit of bringing him joy and scrubbing away some of the constant tightness he feels within. The more undone he becomes, the more he uses his puppet off camera. Its his little beacon of comfort for the bad times. The day Kamal quit brought about a lot of pain for the doctor. He locked himself inside his office and cried the day away, his puppet offering soft, broken messages of comfort and sympathy.

Time passes, and the Flower Hero makes their appearance.

Boris frowns deeply, his chest and arms tightening much more, suffocating and constant. He sees so much of himself in the child, yet so little. They are doing what Boris could never achieve and in such a short time. With each new smile, Boris only falls more and more into his trance, and his prized puppet isn’t enough to calm his quaking mind. 

 

The Big Event begins now, but there is no one left. No one here except him and the happiness virus. Boris stands, shakey, unstable, hurting. The doctor takes one look at his puppet and tucks him safely into the corner of the Habitat's recording studio. Boris didn’t want him to be hurt like his lily. Mind completely shrouded with painful memories, old and new; he makes his way to his dentist room.

Boris Habit activates Martha’s special surprise “air,” dark green and synthetic bubblegum, and waits.

 

The man steps out of the dentist room and swaps the white lab coat for his big comfy one. He knows that it wouldn’t be long before the Flower Hero escaped. Boris knew he would lose. Deep, deep down, the hurting man knew that the child would prevail, but couldn’t bring himself to stop. Then, something dawns on him, through the sickening bubblegum and thick haze.

He didn’t want to stop himself.

The dentist replays the most recent scene in his head over and over. He had ripped out the kid’s teeth, mutilated their smile. He’d tried to kill their happiness.

Boris sobbed silently with sickening revelation.

He had become his father, the evil man who broke Boris’s lovely lily, his face, and his smile. During boyhood, he was far too afraid to fight or run from the abuse, but seeing so much of himself in the flower kid offered a second chance.

It made sense that Boris’s hurt and clouded subconscious wanted the flower child to beat him. When the Flower Hero inevitably defeats this warped version of himself, Boris will be rid of the inner demons that plague his thoughts. It would be poetic if it weren’t riddled with finality and self-harm.

Boris’s thoughts are halted when he sees the flower child break free from the dental chair. He had expected as much. However, he wasn’t expecting the kid to pause.

The troubled doctor froze and stared through the one-way mirror. Inside, the flower hero had their arms raised slightly, moving up and down. Their expression goes from uneasy to focused to determined. The door opens soon after. Boris, still stunned, can’t raise his hands fast enough to brace himself for the barrage he expects. The already suffocating, hazy muck solidifies.

‘No escape, I can’t run. It’ll finally be over.’ Despite acceptance in his thoughts, he flinches violently when the kid takes an item from their bouquet and extends their arm toward him.

Slowly opening one eye, Boris is chilled to see a single tooth lily. 

 

Boris sits there, taking in the flower’s delicate petals, the gentle, sweet scent, and... 

“It’s healthy,” he says quietly.

The flower child remains silent, so he continues: 

“Do you realize how difficult it is to grow a flower that pure?” A nod. 

The man glances at the youth’s bouquet, eyes lingering on the red punching glove, then to the wrinkled sheets of paper. 

“You must have read my diary.. You know all about me then… And you came to see me anyway?”

A gentle smile and another nod. 

Hope trickles through his veins, and he hopes that it stays. After heartfelt apologies and an agreement to coffee and emails, a new friendship is forged. They both sit in contemplative silence, admiring the gentle grace of the flower. Then, Boris’s mind clings to the sight seen in the dentist room.

Curiosity gets the better of him, so he turns to the flower kid tentatively and asks what they were doing in the room.

The doctor wishes he had his puppet. His arms and hands itch for his prized possession. The haze had subsided, but the suffocating feeling was still present.

The child tilts their head confused before Boris quietly points to the one-way mirror. The youth stills and presses their lips into a thin line. 

The flower child analyzed the man carefully. There didn’t seem to be any malice or judgment coming from him, in fact, he looked rather anxious. Upon closer inspection, the florist could see that Boris’s arms were shaking the tiniest bit, hands opening and closing harshly, like it wasn’t the movement the hands craved.

A little sprout of an idea emerged in the youth’s brain. Maybe Boris was like them, and perhaps he would benefit from learning. The child then remembered the puppet from the man’s daily PSA’s. Although they hadn’t met the man until this morning, they knew that the puppet would be the best way to explain.

Slowly the flower kid lifted their hands, and held them by their chest, and slowly opened and closed their hands as if they had a puppet of their own. They pointed at Boris and blinked at him until he mirrors their actions. Satisfied that the troubled man was following their lead, the kid picks up the pace gradually.

Boris is confused, he can feel the tightening feeling again, but it’s… slowly, so, so slowly receding from his fingertips.

He’s a bit scared but doesn’t run from the feeling, trusting his new flower friend. He continues for a bit and feels his fingers buzz with a lighter type of energy. Instead of tar and thunder, Boris’s hands gently pet along flowery meadows. Its… nice. It’s really, really lovely. 

(FK centered)  
They smile at him supportively and transition from hand to arm movements slowly, letting the man adjust to this new experience. The youth happily, silently, makes motorboats sounds and unintentionally getting lost in the exciting feeling. They smile and squeeze their eyes shut, feeling like a bunch of happy, buzzy bumblebees. Their soul vibrates out of their body pleasantly, and it sings to a birds tune. Bouncing in place happily, they slowly return to the present.

They open their eyes and startle upon seeing Boris sobbing.

(Boris centered)  
He mimics the child’s movements, and all the oxygen rips from his lungs. Looking at the flower savior for guidance, Boris finds them tuned out. They look so at peace, so happy.. Instead of interrupting them, the man slowly breathes and continues at the new, faster pace. Closing his eyes, he sees dark sludge, murky, and turbulent. It’s boiling within glass containers of varying sizes.

He continues to move his arms, making sure to breathe. He can feel his palms gently rest on fresh grass, his feet feel the gentle ebb of a lake unknown to him. 

Boris hears glass crack below him, causing the man to jump. Under him was a glass floor with sludge sloshing around viciously. He briefly notes that that wasn’t there prior, before it cracks violently around him. The man stares into the depths curiously, startling and falling on his rear when he thinks he sees his father from below. 

In the deepest recesses of his heart, Boris is scared, but his body feels light. He feels cool grass on his back, a sweet-scented breeze, and the gentle heat of the sun.

Flapping rapidly, the glass shatters, and he is enveloped by the muck.

He flinches and makes sure to breath when he can. Boris sees his childhood home, but it isn’t him in the memories. He watches scene after scene horrified and shaking. In his stead are the children he’s met at the habitat. Seeing his parents treat the kids like he was treated made him disgusted and angry. He screams into the sludge that what his parents are doing is atrocious. Those kids don’t deserve that at all. Good parents don’t do that to kids. That horrid behavior isn’t healthy, it’s not okay… 

The images and memories flush away. The sludge drains, and Boris’s heart stops at the scene. He sees his ten-year-old self, kissing his lily. A door opens, and both Habits pale. Then, the world pauses. 

Boris walks around the room cautiously, taking in the presence of his father. The scum didn’t smell like alcohol, he didn’t have bags under his eyes, and his wallet looked pleasantly fat. Nothing indicated that his father was under the influence or lashing out because of stress.

In fact, the scum looked… delighted at what he was about to do.

Boris gags and looks to his younger self. He didn’t deserve it. He had never deserved any of it. It was never his fault. Horrible people did horrible things to him in his youth, and it was never his fault. He glares at the scum; disgusted, and sad, and angry, so, so angry.

Then, he turns to his younger self and softens. Slowly, he sits on the floor and scoots toward his younger self. He makes sure his hands are in sight, body language non-threatening. The young boy looks at him, unfrozen, and gently hugs the man.

Boris sobs, a lifetime of hurt and haze bursting from within. It’s aching and heavy, pleasant, and cathartic. He’s floating, weightless, in a lake with water lilies and blue irises cradling him back to the present.

The man coos softly and registers the pressure around his chest. It’s not tight or suffocating, it’s warm and gentle. Leaning into it, he blinks open tear-heavy eyes, sniffles, and gently pets the flower kids hair. He sighs, soul light, and smiles thankfully at the child. The florist is rightfully concerned, but the gentle peace that graces the man’s face is enough to put that feeling to rest. They place a soft kiss on his cheek and hug him more, letting out silent giggles when he blushes and stutters.

After the flower savior lets Boris go both of them hear the faintest of sniffles. Carefully leaning forward, he is surprised to see Kamal in the waiting room, holding his little puppet no less. He guesses that Kamal shut off Martha a while ago. The room felt lighter, the air was no longer sickeningly sweet. Boris is left speechless at his former employee's intelligence and kindness.

Kamal gently holds out Boris’s puppet, poorly attempting to frown at the man through the tears. He takes notice that Kamal isn’t saying anything to him, turning away from the dentist each time he needed to exhale through his mouth.

Boris frowns minutely and makes a mental note to properly apologize to him later. The doctor carefully takes his puppet and waits for Kamal to look at him. Once Kamal catches his glance, he offers a small, genuine smile and thanks Kamal for everything.

Flower kid gently tugs at his coat and points at the elevator.It was time to leave and grow.

The journey to the courtyard should have been stressful, should have been a grim reminder of what could have been, but Boris felt lighter than helium. He’d noticed that he was smiling to himself, the frowns and fear still flushed from his mind. 

They all make their way outside the building. Boris takes in a big breath of fresh mountain air and knows that things will be better. He knows that there are still jars of murky sludge within and knows that he still has a long way to go before he can healthily learn to cope with his past. Boris knows this, but he isn’t troubled. With his lily and beloved puppet in each arm, and the flower savior to guide the way, he smiles for himself and is ready for change.


End file.
